


A Hand in the Orange Juice

by unofficialsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fan Art, Gen, General fiction, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While collecting case information from Lestrade, John learns something surprising from the detective about Sally and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hand in the Orange Juice

**Author's Note:**

> I may have spelled Sally's last name wrong.

'Why is there a severed hand in a bowl of orange juice?' John hated opening the refrigerator. There was always something in it that he didn't want to see.

'Experiment,' Sherlock called lazily from the desk. He didn't stop working. Whatever he was doing was interesting-for the moment. 'I'm trying to see what citric acid does to a corpse that's been sitting in it for an extended period of time.'

John sighed and regarded the hand. 'Oookay.' What this had to do with criminal investigation, John would never know. 'At least those maggots aren't in the butter anymore.'

'No, they're in a stick of butter in my bedroom,' Sherlock told him. He was quiet for a while. 'Do you want to see Lestrade for me?'

John came back in the room with a glass of milk. 'No orange juice?' Sherlock said smirking.

John made a face back. 'No. Why d'you want me to see Lestrade? Does this have to do with the hand?'

Sherlock chuckled. 'No, no, no… he's investigating those stabbings down by the Thames. He asked me for help-I need data.'

'And what are you doing that you can't go?'

Sherlock looked up. 'Oh, I've gotta find a man. He knows everything that goes on down there; he should be able to help.' He stood and shooed John away. 'Data. Now. Go!'

 

John sat in Lestrade's office, taking notes from the case file.

'So, how's rooming with him?' Lestrade asked from the other side of the desk. 'He keeps sending you to do work for him. Must be a pain.'

'Sometimes entertaining, sometimes annoying, yeah,' John replied. 'I'd hate to meet his roommate from uni-if he had one.'

Lestrade snorted. 'Yeah, me too.' 

'So, how did you two meet?' John asked conversationally. 'You can't have just suddenly asked him for help.'

'No,' Lestrade said, leaning back in his chair slightly. 'No, I got an e-mail, five years back, telling me who to talk to as witnesses, what to use for evidence, and who had committed the murder I was investigating. I thought this was some idiot playing a joke or something, so I ignored it. But they kept coming; hundreds of e-mails, flooding my inbox every minute, all saying the same thing, all signed 'SH'. Then one day, out of annoyance and desperation, I looked into what he was saying.'

'And he was right?' John asked, looking up.

Lestrade nodded. 'I wanted to thank him, to find out who he was, and to question him about how he got police information. But I couldn't trace his e-mail. So I sent one to him, telling him to comedown to the station so we could thank him properly. But he didn't show. I would've given him his credit, but how do you say someone who doesn't exist solved your case?'

'So… he kept solving your cases?' John asked. 'How did you find out it was Sherlock?'

'I started poking around; trying to find out in anyone on the force was leaking information outside. And I found Sally Donovan.'

'What about her?' John asked curiously.

'Well, apparently, she'd been seeing this guy, basically just out of university. She said he was a really manic guy, really depressed one minute, and ecstatically happy the next-always happiest when there was murder in London.' He sighed. 'Sally said he was asking questions about cases, and she was giving him answers-nothing important, just a little extra than what the papers were getting. And, well, I wanted to meet him.'

'Sherlock dated… Donovan?' John asked incredulously. 'Really?'

Lestrade nodded. 'Even though it seemed impossible, this kid was solving cases-my cases-without any proper information. I had to meet him. I found him in Bart's lab, just like Sally said. And he told me he was expecting me. And I talked with him for a bit before realising that this kid was brilliant.'

'I won't tell him you said that,' John said grinning.

'I wanted to offer him a place in the force-not my call, but I figured they could make an exception. And he adamantly refused.' Lestrade smiled slightly, shaking his head. 'He wanted to remain unofficial. He said I could call on him whenever, and he'd help me out, and then slip away without taking any credit. I didn't like it, but it was the best I could get from him, so I agreed.'

'And then he broke up with Donovan,' John said quietly.

'The next day. He didn't flat-out tell her he'd been using her, but she got the message. She's hated him ever since.'

John shook his head. 'Wow. If it wasn't Sherlock, I wouldn't believe that he did that to her.' But she seems fine with Anderson, John thought to himself.

Lestrade stood. 'That all you need?'

John copied him, grabbing his notes. 'Yep. Thanks' He walked out and met Donovan in the hall.

'What's Freak sent you for now?' she asked, regarding him warily.

'Notes on the Thames case,' John answered. 'And Sherlock has got a name.'

She shrugged. 'Have fun with him-while it lasts,' she added under her breath.

John handed his notes to Sherlock. 'Donovan says Hi.'

'Oh, I'm sure,' Sherlock scoffed. He read through the notes quickly, and then folded his hands behind his head on the couch. 'Complies with my information.'

'So, you're just gonna lay there?' John asked. Sherlock didn't move. 'Okay, I'm gonna throw away the orange juice experiment.'

'Go ahead,' Sherlock yawned. 'It's useless now; I accidentally spilled something in it.'

John paused, biting his lip. 'Is there any point in asking what you spilled in it?' he asked cautiously.

Sherlock's lips twitched, smiling ever so slightly. 'A urine sample. Well, not just any sample. This one had turned all-'

'Alright, I don't want to know,' John protested, raising his hands. 'And you're gonna clean that up, NOW.'  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but walked into the kitchen, grinning.


End file.
